


Magical Realism

by Phae17



Series: Home is where the magic is [2]
Category: Merlin (TV), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22278742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phae17/pseuds/Phae17
Summary: Jaskier talks about his past and plays with fire. Literally.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Home is where the magic is [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602424
Comments: 24
Kudos: 465





	Magical Realism

After that night, Jaskier noted that something seemed to shift in his dynamic with Geralt, but he couldn't seem to place his finger on the what or how of it. 

The very next morning after Jaskiers melancholic night, amidst his usual jabbering as they readied themselves to depart their makeshift camp, Geralt had asked, "Is Jaskier your real name?" 

The question had caught Jaskier off guard so much that he actually stumbled over his own feet as he turned to look at the witcher, mouth gaping a little. 

"I-well, it is now." He fiddled with his bag not really intending to say more, but at Geralt's nod and quiet 'Hm' Jaskier suddenly felt a wave of guilt and blurted, "But if you must know, my birth name is Julian. Though I do prefer Jaskier."

Geralt had looked at him then, seemingly contemplating something. "Were you of noble birth?" 

Raising his eyebrows he responded, "Well, yes, technically. My father was a viscount, and I lived with my parents until I was 16. I'm afraid I made for a terrible noble." 

As Geralt got on Roach and Jaskier ambled along beside them, Jaskier wondered not for the first time what had become of his parents. If they ever had another child. If they had lived a long a happy life after they'd sent him away. 

He hoped so. 

"Why were you only with them until you were 16?" Geralt asked.

"They grew afraid of me. Especially my father." Jaskier shrugged as he let himself remember things long past, "The older I got, the more powerful my magic became, and sometimes, I couldn't control it very well. Especially if I felt a strong emotion, and at the time I was full of those." He chuckled. "The last straw had been when a stablehand, also an old friend of my father's, had tried to whip me with a riding crop when I had snuck one of his prized horses out for a ride." 

Biting his lip as old feelings of guilt began to well up in his chest, Jaskier wished not for the first time in many decades that things had been different. But isn't that the wish of anyone with regrets?

"What happened?" Geralt asked curiously. 

Jaskier winced. "I got angry, and I got only angrier when he spouted what a worthless son I was to my parents and the closer he got with that whip clapping in his hands, the more rage built up. When he finally took that first swing," Jaskier sighed and looked down at his feet, the familiar sense of shame filling him once more, "I screamed and the man went flying clear across the stables and into a pillar."

"He died." Geralt stated as they reached the main road but had stopped as the Witcher turned to look down at the bard who was looking far off into the distance, obviously still caught up in the memory.

"I can still remember the sound of his bones breaking."

"It wasn't your fault."

Jaskier looked up at Geralt then, who's eyes locked onto his own. "It wasn't your fault. You were young and obviously untrained in your use of magic. You unknowingly protected yourself, your magic simply responded to your desire to be safe." 

_"There is nothing wrong with wanting to feel safe." Gauis said, folding his letter and throwing it into the fireplace. "You protected yourself the only way you knew how, even if you weren't conscious of it. That is not on you though dear boy. That is on those who have failed you."_

"Huh." Jaskier said distractedly, it had been a long time since he thought of the old man. 

"What is it?" The Witcher asked confusingly as they started walking again. 

"Your words," Jaskier huffed a little, "They just reminded me of something someone else said in a similar vein, long ago." 

"Hm. They sound wise."

"He was. Also, that sounded like a self-compliment of sorts, and being someone who calls upon the use of the law of surprise so easily, I'm not sure I'd go as far as calling you wise."

Geralt snorts and lightly kicks Jaskiers arm. To which the bard yelps and dramatically rubs the non existent pain away. 

"So what happened?" 

"Huh?" Jaskier looks at the Witcher confused. "What happened with what?" 

Geralt rolled his eyes. 

"Oh! Yes, my story. Right, where were we? Oh, right, father's dead friend." Jaskier grimaced.

"Well, suffice to say that if they were afraid of me before then, they were now afraid tenfold. My father covered up the incident by stating that it had been an accident. He reported that his friend had fallen from the rooftop of the farmhouse and died as a result." Jaskier shook his head and scoffed, "Father never could look me in the eye after that. And my mother, well, she tried to comfort me and understand, bless her soul, but it was hard for her I think. And I think it was taking a toll on their marriage looking back on it."

Jaskier shrugged as he walked a lit bit ahead and patted Roach's neck as he fed her some apple that he'd been peeling. "My mother had an old friend in a village not too far from our town, long story short, my mother had her come and begged her to take me in as she no longer knew what to do with me."

"Why did your mother think her friend would know what to do?" Geralt asked.

"Because she had a son who was also born with magic and she had been planning to send him off to be cared for and guided by a court physician. Who might I add had once been a practicing warlock himself many years ago before." 

Geralt grunted. "So you were sent along with the boy." 

Jaskier sighed. "Indeed. Right into the lion's mouth, the great kingdom of Camelot." He said in an exaggerated tone of reverence.

"I take it things did not go well." Geralt stated dryly.

Jaskier snorted. "Trying to learn to control your magic while not only living within the kingdom but in the bloody _castle_ of a tyrant king who _forbade_ the use and practice of magic in his realm on pain of _death_ , well, let me tell you. Everything that could ever go wrong, goes wrong."

Geralt's eyebrows had risen up and quickly turned into a frown, "Wait, why was magic forbidden in the kingdom?"

Jaskier sighed. Well, they did have a ways to go until the next town. 

  
  


And it went like that for the next several weeks. Geralt would ask a question about Jaskiers past, his magic, even the types of monsters and creatures that existed. Jaskier found he enjoyed telling Geralt all the anecdotes of his time in Camelot and the messes that Merlin and he would get caught up in. 

The more serious ones he saved for late nights by the fire or for when they shared a bed at an inn. If only because those ones still managed to leave him feeling hollow and pained. He always wanted to just sleep after those stories.

Jaskier felt like somehow he'd become closer with Geralt in the last few weeks, as if he had finally started breaching some invisible wall that the man had between himself and everyone else. The Witcher seemed more open and expressive in his comments and questions, seemingly intrigued by Jaskiers past. Geralt even started offering bits and pieces of his own past, like his first monster hunt, figuring out and practicing his spells - and how awry his first try went - and though it was rare, he'd occasionally talk about his training in Kaer Morhen and his teacher, Vesemir. 

Jaskier figured he did it more as a way to make Jaskier feel better about sharing his own past. Though he really hoped it was more because he finally felt comfortable talking about his own life with the bard and not because he felt guilty. 

  
  


One chilly night, Geralt looked at Jaskier as the bard wrote furiously into his notebook. Every now and again he would hear murmurs of song lyrics as Jaskier played with words, rhymes and rhythm. Jaskier usually grew quiet and more serious in these moments, all the chatter seemingly isolated to his own head. 

These were the moments where Geralt regarded the bard more intently, taking in the myriad of expressions that Jaskier openly let run through his face. The one that Geralt looked for though, was the one he began sporting now, Jaskier had looked into the fire and never looked away, seemingly lost in a memory as his eyebrows creased ever so slightly, eyes glistening and lost in a quiet pain as his mouth clicked shut, jaw tense and breathing turned uneven.

Geralt knew the look well. Grief never failed to look and smell the same, though Jaskiers seemed much more muted. A pain only tempered by the passage of time.

“Show me something.” Geralt said suddenly, surprising even himself. 

Jaskier looked up suddenly, grief quickly forgotten and turned to one of confusion. “What?”

“Show me something, of your magic.” Geralt had been curious for a while now to see what Jaskiers magic would feel or look like to him.

“Uh,” Jaskier iterated dumbly, mind still trying to catch up to Geralt’s sudden request. “I mean, okay, I just… What would you like to see? I wasn’t kidding when I said I couldn’t do much of, well, anything..”

Geralt shrugged. “Anything, that won’t of course have you passing out or dying.” 

Jaskier blinked and stared at Geralt’s expectant face, eyes roaming the older man’s features as the fire made his stoic expression much more menacing than his companion was actually feeling. And tragically more handsome. Not for the first time Jaskier thought how unfair it was that people that looked as good as Geralt simply existed. 

Jaskier began wracking his mind of all the things he could possibly do that would both impress the witcher and not drain him entirely. 

Finally, with a sigh, Jaskier opted to do the one thing he and Merlin once found comfort in doing whenever they travelled alone together, and of course, when they were feeling daring. 

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier let it out slowly, surprised at his sudden bout of nerves. He closed his eyes and let himself feel the last vestiges of his magic, warm and familiar. Entwined with the energy of his being, flowing at the edges of his body like a feather of a whisper, so much duller than it once was. 

Opening his eyes, Jaskier looked into the fire and slowly raised his right arm, hand outstretched towards the fire. He felt the light tickle in the transfer of energy as it melded with the campfire, intertwining energies as Jaskier conjured up the image of a dragon, no bigger than his shoe, flying in circles and breathing fire. It circled them around the camp twice before pausing in front of Geralt, the little dragon breathing little bits of fire towards him. 

Geralt expression was one of gentle amusement, mouth quirked ever so slightly in a smile. Jaskier grinned to himself as he looked down at his feet, a warmth and flutter in his stomach.

After almost another minute of maneuvering the dragon higher and circling around them playfully, Jaskier could already feel himself breathing a little heavier, a twinge in his chest that told him it was enough. 

With much reluctance, Jaskier allowed the dragon to return to the flames of the campfire, it's image still existing above the flames but unmoving save for the flap of it's wings. 

Moving a hand over his chest, he let himself slide off the rock he'd been sitting on and onto the cool earth beneath so he could lean his back against the stone while he caught his breath. Jaskier hadn't even realized he'd closed his eyes and clenched the fabric over his chest as he attempted to regulate his breathing around the sting in his chest that felt like a dead weight at the moment. 

"Jaskier." 

Eyes snapped open and the only reason Jaskier hadn't squealed in surprise at having Geralt suddenly right in front of him in a crouch, was because as he'd exhaled a breath, he'd inhaled a gasp and found himself choking on it instead.

Geralt clapped him on the back and steadied him upwards once again, a warm hand holding the front of his tunic and eyes narrowed as he looked at Jaskier's face. 

"Don't," a sharp inhale, "scare me--" slow exhale, "like that." Jaskier managed to wheeze out as his heart began to pace itself more normally again and the prickling in his chest died down to a dull ache. 

"Sorry, I thought you were going to pass out for a moment." Geralt replied, gold eyes still looking at him wearily, as if he still expected Jaskier to faint. 

The bard nodded his understanding, heaving out a long sigh as his breathing finally regulated. "Nah, didn't use that much really, I'm just not used to it anymore," he nodded towards the dragon still formed over the fire, "having it merely exist is not a problem, making it _do_ things on the other hand, that takes more energy and kicks my ass if I use too much." 

"Hm." Geralt lets go of Jaskier's shirt and slowly withdraws, the frown on his face smoothing away at Jaskiers explanation. He moves his legs to sit where he'd been crouched before asking, "It looked a little painful." Nodding towards Jaskiers chest.

Jaskier threw him a sheepish look, "Admittedly a little bit, mostly because I haven't used my magic in a long time now. I think my body is simply unused to using it again."

"Hm." Geralt looked at Jaskier with an indecipherable expression. 

Jaskier suddenly gave him a wide smile. "Well dear witcher? Did you feel or see anything?"

Geralt tilted his head as he fiddled with a branch on the ground, eyes never leaving Jaskier's face.

"Your eyes turn gold when you use it, but otherwise, I didn't feel anything at all." There was a wonder and curiosity in his tone that Jaskier hadn't expected but had him smiling just the same. 

"Ha! Seems like I can still surprise you after all."

The witchers mouth quirked up. "So it would seem."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not using a beta and while I try to correct as I go, I do try and go over it again for anything I've missed. Though as I've mentioned before, I'm not really a writer (and by not really, I mean not at all save for the occasional bouts of poetry that I dabble for myself) so all mistakes made are mine and I'm sorry >.>~


End file.
